


Letting Go

by BJackson



Series: Two Leapers [1]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 17:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8632180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: When Sam leaps into a coma patient, he remembers the events and the people that led to Project Quantum Leap. In the end, he must make a painful, life-changing decision.





	1. Chapter 1

    Sam's last leap had been hectic, to say the least. After stretching his muscles to fight off crazy ex-boyfriends, win a drag race, and rescue a damsel in distress, he was exhausted and ready for some well-deserved R&R. Of course, leaps didn't work that way. With his luck, his next trip would land him in a wrestling ring during the title match or a postman's uniform being chased by Sparky, the rabid neighborhood dog. Just once, he'd like to land somewhere peaceful and non-life-threatening.   
  
    Maybe good thoughts would help sway the leap. As Al waved goodbye and the blue light overtook him, he imagined it was from soft waves, rhythmically foaming up and down the beach over sand-squished toes. Eyes closed, comforting heat enveloping him securely. A slow inhale, the salty scent of the ocean.   
  
    Then, he realized, he was already on the next leap.   
  
    The feel of sheets told him he'd been asleep in bed. He felt...relaxed. Unpressured. No fire alarms, no one rushing him awake because their significant other was coming home...he could sleep in to his heart's desire. Was this possible? For the first time in a long time, he felt content leaping in. With a pleased sigh, he at last opened his eyes to see his new home.   
  
    It was difficult to ascertain his surroundings in the dark, but he could make out a woman seated across from him. A head of dyed red hair was slumped over as she snoozed under a blanket. Not long after Sam spotted her, she began to stir. Bleary eyes groggily fell on him.   
  
    Giving an awkward but polite smile, Sam threw her a little wave. "Morning."  
  
    And that was the end of his tranquil leap-in. The woman screamed in shock and nearly fell out of her seat. Scrambling upright, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "Eric?" she gasped disbelievingly.  
  
    "Uhhh...yes?"  
  
    Then the woman's entire weight fell onto him in an emotional heap as she hugged him so tight he could hardly breathe. "Thank you Jesus!" she wailed, "Oh thank you! Thank you!" Loosening her grip and allowing him to breathe better, she began to sob onto his shoulder. Not sure where to put his hands, Sam sat there with his arms uneasily hovering over her. "Eric, I never gave up on you! Never!"   
  
    That's when Sam recognized his surroundings as a hospital room. "Oh boy," he gulped. He had a really bad feeling about this one.  
  
\-------  
  
    "Do you know where you are, Eric?" The doctor shone a light in Sam's eye. He gathered her name was Karen Whittaker, since that's what her name tag read.   
  
    Glancing around obviously, he lifted his hands and joked, "Looks like a hospital."   
  
    Dr. Whittaker and the woman behind her chuckled. The doctor put her light away. "Do you recognize who this is?" She motioned toward the woman, who smiled hopefully.  
  
    Sam swallowed. "My...wife?" he guessed, trying to sound more certain than he was.   
  
    Her grin faltered, but didn't disappear. "What's my name, sweetie?"  
  
    Stuck now, Sam merely lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. His wife frowned sadly.   
  
    Dr. Whittaker continued impassively. "Do you remember your accident, Eric?"   
  
    Again, Sam could only shrug.   
  
    Where was Al? He knew he wasn't usually this early on leaps, but he could definitely use his help on this one. He hoped Eric's memory lapses weren't too damaging to the leap, but he had nothing to go on. He had no bandages or casts to indicate to him where or how he was injured, so it must not have been anything too traumatic. Dr. Whittaker's examination told him it at least involved a head injury, so perhaps Eric had suffered a concussion. In which case, memory lapses would be perfectly normal.   
  
    More questions, some of which he could answer, depending on if they directly involved Eric or not. He gleaned some information from it, learning his wife's name was Marjorie, and their last name was Horn. Then tests which involved writing and drawing and coordination. What exactly happened to this guy to warrant such extensive examination, Sam wondered? At last, the doctor leaned back in her seat and scrutinized him closely.   
  
    "Hm." She wrinkled her brow, chewed on her pencil. "Hm hm hm..."  
  
    "Hm," Sam responded half-questioningly, hoping this would be over with soon.   
  
    "If I can be frank, Mr. Horn...you shouldn't be like this. I'm completely stunned."   
  
    "Like what?"   
  
    She sighed and gestured toward him in confusion. "Moving around, having conversation...I've never seen such a remarkable recovery in all my years in medicine. You have no muscle atrophy, no significant brain damage... I can't even begin to explain it. It's as if you've become a new person."  
  
    Muscle atrophy? Significant brain damage? Now Sam was getting concerned, because this was way more than just a concussion. "What happened to me?" he finally asked.   
  
    "He was in a coma, Sam." The answer came from the corner, where a solemn Al stood out in plum purple. "Eric Horn has been in that bed for seven years."   
  
    Unable to respond to Al even if he wanted to, Sam could only gape in stunned silence. Had this ever happened before? _Could_ it happen? He'd never encountered anything remotely close.   
  
    "Never mind that now," Marjorie said before Dr. Whittaker could respond, taking Sam by the hand, "We'll talk about it when you're feeling better. I can't wait to tell Christina and Ellie that Daddy's coming home!"   
      
    "Mrs. Horn, I'd like to speak with you outside," the doctor said gently. Marjorie nodded, promised Sam she'd be back soon, and they left.  
  
    Lightning fast, Sam's head whipped toward his holographic companion. "I'm in a coma?" he gasped in astonishment.   
  
    "Not you, Sam," Al corrected him as he slid over, "Eric. And I didn't say he _is_ in a coma, I said he _was_ in a coma. Because as of three days ago your time, he was officially declared brain dead."   
  
    " _What?_ "   
  
    "Believe me, I know," Al answered, bringing the handlink up to his face. The blinking lights danced over his features. "In 1982, Eric Horn was working a construction job when he fell off of the scaffolding and cracked his noggin open. That, uh, was seven years ago." At that last part, Al got an odd look on his face. Sam was too preoccupied to notice, and he didn't elaborate. "Anyway, that's how he went into the coma. And now that he's been declared brain dead, it's only a matter of time before...y'know." He shrugged a single shoulder uncomfortably.  
  
    "But that's impossible. How can I leap into someone who's brain dead?"  
  
    "You got me on that one, but evidently it _is_ possible."  
  
    "No, that can't be right," argued Sam, shaking his head, "He must have _some_ chance of waking up. I mean...I don't even have a ventilator."  
  
    "Well, see, that's why they've been hanging on," Al explained, gesticulating over his head, "Eric's cerebrum died, but his brain stem is still kicking. So he can breathe and whatnot, but," his hand wobbled, "nobody's up there. It's another week before everything shuts down and then...kaput."  
  
    Sam got a thoughtful look on his face. He wasn't willing to accept that outcome. "Maybe I'm here to change that."  
  
    Al could sense where this was going, and it was nowhere but heartache. Already he could see the heroic, logic-defying ideas forming in his friend's mind, and he shook them away with an emphatic finger. "Nu-uh, Sam, no."  
  
    "Yes."  
  
    "No."  
  
    "Yes."  
  
    "Sam."   
  
    "Why not?" Sam questioned sensibly, "We've made advances in the medical field that they didn't have in 1989. Maybe we know something they don't."  
  
    Absolutely certain, Al took a step toward him while shaking his head. "He's certified, 100% dead, pal. Science might have made a lot of advances, but we still can't cure that." With that, he swiped his hands across each other in finality. "Trust me, he's never waking up."  
  
    Sam seemed to shrink as all of the information sunk in. Brows furrowed sadly, he looked toward the door where Eric's wife was still speaking to the doctor. "Then that means, before I leaped in...he never regained consciousness at all."   
  
    Sharing the same thought, Al nodded glumly. "Yeah. It's all very sad."  
  
    "He has two daughters."  
  
    "I know."   
  
    "But that's not fair, Al!" Sam said heatedly, "I can't just give him back to them and then take him away again. Not even God, Time, Fate--Whatever's been leaping me around is that cruel. Why would I leap into him if I'm not supposed to help him?"   
  
    Al thought on it for a moment. Hands in his pockets, he bounced once on his heels and shrugged. "Look at it this way. Before you came, they were never gonna see him again."   
  
    At this, Sam fell silent. Maybe this was true...but it still didn't seem right. They weren't really seeing Eric again, they were seeing Sam in an Eric disguise. He contemplated the door once more.  
  
    Al's shoulder slid up again. "I don't know, maybe you were able to leap in since Eric's body is still _technically_ up and running. But back at the Project...I mean, he's already starting to go." He shuddered, then shot a grim Sam a sympathetic look. "There's nothing you could've done at this point."  
  
    Then why did Sam feel like he was letting him down?   
  
    "Al?"  
  
    "Hm."  
  
    "What happens if his body dies before I leap?"   
  
    That was a good question. This leap was full of those.   
  
\-------  
  
    _Clunk-shoooooooom_.  
  
    As the Imaging Chamber closed at a snail's pace, Al glanced back with a questioning eyebrow. The blue orb above shimmered as he placed the handlink on its charger. Jamming his thumb behind him at their pain-in-the-ass supercomputer, he addressed Gooshie at the console. "What's her problem?"  
  
    It was Donna who answered, seated nearby with her chin in hands as she memorized the scuffs on the floor. "She's depressed."  
  
    Of course she was. Gooshie shrugged and Al made his way over to Donna. "Well she needs to get over it. We don't need another one of her fits on top of everything else."   
  
    The haggard scientist looked up through fallen strands of hair to find Al looking away thoughtfully, fists deep in his pockets as usual. Brushing her face clear and straightening up, she leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "The timing is a little strange."  
  
    "A little strange? It's spooky." Unsettled, Al rolled his shoulders back and stretched his neck. "I mean, what're the chances of Sam leaping into someone who's been in a coma for seven years, on the seventh anniversary of his first leap? It gives me the willies."   
  
    Rolling her eyes, Donna made an annoyed noise and got to her feet. "Al, don't act like this is some sort of ominous portent. It doesn't _mean_ anything. It's just...sad, is all. It reminds us of how much time we've lost."   
  
    "I don't know, Donna. I don't like it." Al knitted his brows and stewed on his doom-and-gloom thoughts.   
  
    Donna's viewpoint was much more simplistic. This was mere coincidence, but a parallel she couldn't deny. More than usual, Sam was on her mind. Running her hand across a panel, she gazed at the ring on her finger wistfully. "Seven years. He's been gone for seven years."   
  
    "I know."   
  
    "I miss him, Al."  
  
    "Yeah. Me too."   
  
    Save for Ziggy's humming and Gooshie's button-pressing, the two of them sat in dejected silence after that. Seven years since Sam had completely rearranged their world. Then again, if one were to get technical, Sam had changed their lives long before that. Al knew that for sure. For him, it began in 1984.  
  
\-------  
  
_Captain Albert Calavicci was having a very bad day. This hangover he was dealing with was an old but painful kind of hell, his back was aching from sleeping on a crummy motel bed, and his hair was doing that thing he hated. Y'know, that one thing. And now he was holed up in his shared office at Starbright, feet propped on his desk, trying to keep the glowing blue star on Captain Brown's chest away from his sore eyes, and thoroughly looking over resumes.  
  
    One puzzling candidate in particular kept calling to him. A candidate who was equally impressive and enigmatic, which automatically made him suspicious. That earned the resume a long-term place in the set aside pile.   
  
    Problem was, nobody else seemed up to snuff. Once again, his eyes flicked over to the folder on the corner of the desk. Oh, hell. Finally, he leaned over and picked it up with a groan. Jeez, that motel was the pits. He was looking forward to when Ruthie let him back home this time. He studied the black and white photo that was paper-clipped on top, a half-grinning 30-year-old who already had crow’s feet and a streak of gray hair, and yet somehow still exuded a sense of youthful optimism.  
  
    Before he'd read a word he already knew his name. Sam Beckett. He'd seen him occasionally on the news and in the paper. Being a child prodigy tended to get you noticed.   
  
    "Hey. What do you think of this guy?" Al flashed the picture toward the man seated across from him, who had been filling out forms silently.   
  
    Brown, a man who looked like out of his 54 years he'd slept for approximately two of them, looked over his glasses tiredly. He squinted at the picture before raising his eyebrows. "Sam Beckett?"  
  
    "Yeah."  
  
    "What about him?"  
  
    "Y'know. What's his deal?"   
  
    Removing his glasses, Brown let out a long-suffering sigh. They'd been working together far longer than he would've liked. Al couldn't care less what his boring opinion of him was; he was more concerned with what he could tell him about this kid. "He's some kind of genius. Specializes in quantum physics I think. Hasn't he been earning degrees since he was in diapers or something?"   
  
    "That's what I thought," Al answered quizzically, scratching at the stubble on his neck, "He's more than qualified for what we need. So if he's this whiz kid, how come he's never worked on a big project like this before? You'd think people would be fallin' over each other tryin' to snatch him up."   
  
    Hand drawn across his mouth, Brown laughed from between fingers that hid a sly grin. "Because he's a weirdo, that's why," he said, "His ideas are pretty out there. There's a fine line between scientist and _ mad _scientist, if you know what I mean." He chuckled and stuffed a donut into his fat face.  
  
    For some reason, the insult really rubbed Al the wrong way, like sandpaper across his feet. His toes curled up reflexively. The kid was a brainiac, right? Maybe he was onto something other people weren't. Giving an exaggerated frown that made his chin disappear, he eyeballed the resume again and tilted his head to the side. The jab had made up his mind for him. If Brown didn't like him, chances are he was the perfect choice. "Call him up. He's got the job."   
  
    Brown's star blinked as he did. A disbelieving chuckle. "You serious?"  
  
    "Do I look like I'm joking?" Al stared him dead in the eye with an expression that could've challenged the president himself. That pretty much answered his question. His stock might've fallen like a ton of bricks since he'd first started here, but when he wanted something, he got it.   
  
    A pause. Brown lifted his eyebrows. "Okay. It's your call."   
  
\-------  
  
    After six hours of sitting in his wonky chair with the squeaky wheel, Al's back was really bitching at him to get up and take a break. Hell, Brown had been squeezing every second he could out of his 20 minute side trip to the copy room, so Al figured he'd earned himself a reprieve. The west side of the building offered the least chance of running into someone and having to socialize, so Al made his way out with his coffee and a trail of cigar smoke behind him.   
  
    A cursory search of the area seemed clear, so he took out his flask and poured a little something extra into his cup. Not that it was exactly a secret by this point, but whatever. Just as he was taking a sip, he heard voices around the corner. Puh. Brown was there. The copy room, his foot. Al knew it. He was pissing around with Goldstein again. Probably discussing how to give their lives an even duller finish. Or the benefits of never using deodorant.   
  
    He probably shouldn't've. It's not like he cared. But he was bored enough to listen in.   
  
    "Sam Beckett. Swear to god."   
  
    "_ That _nut? Great, that's just what we need around here. Someone else to babysit."  
  
    "Hey, this could work out for us. It's just going to get drunk Calavicci canned even quicker."   
  
    The two of them shared a good laugh, and Al's eyes narrowed. Yuk it up, chuckles. Coupla gasbags. Like they were worth the breath it would take to chew them out.   
  
    Al chugged the rest of his coffee and looked for a place to smoke in peace.   
_  
\-------  
  
    Sam had to remember to act sick if he wanted to avoid ending up being experimented on. Not that he could explain away Eric's remarkable recovery, but it certainly helped if he pretended he wasn't in perfect health after being in a coma for nearly a decade. Dr. Whittaker had been very insistent on keeping him there, which was pretty worrying, but he'd managed to persuade her into letting him go home with the promise of regular visits. He suspected she wanted to keep his story a secret until she could publish a paper about it, and that worked for him.   
  
    As for Marjorie, she was more than happy to take her husband back with her. On their way home she talked nonstop about old memories, hoping to refresh his mind with familiar stories. Sam simply nodded and listened. In a rare stroke of luck, he would have someone on the leap filling the blanks in for him.   
  
    He kept thinking of what was going to happen after everything was said and done. How exactly would this play out? He'd help whoever he was meant to help, and then a blue light takes him away, and Eric is collapsed on the floor? Would he be dead already? Who was going to find him? Why did it have to be Eric he leaped into anyway, out of everyone in this scenario? It didn't make any sense.   
  
    Marjorie held the door open for him and he stepped inside his home for the time being. A mid-sized suburban house, well lived-in and evident of life even while empty. A clunky TV sat in the middle of the living room with the rabbit ears up. Toys were left out carelessly on the floor, and a stuffed rabbit slouched halfway off the green sofa. Sam's stomach clenched when he remembered Eric's daughters.   
  
    He noticed his wife watching him and grinned tightly. "It, uh...it looks just like I remember it."  
  
    With a worried frown, Marjorie explained gently, "You didn't live here, sweetie. We moved here three years ago."   
  
    Sam kicked himself for his mistake. Quickly covering, he chuckled, "I know. I was just testing you." He pointed playfully. "Gotta stay sharp." Boy that was lame. She bought it anyhow and giggled.   
  
    "You were always a joker, Eric." She helped him take his coat off and placed it alongside hers on the rack by the door. "I called Christina at work and told her the wonderful news. She and Michael are going to pick Ellie up from school."   
  
    Sam nodded in acknowledgment. He realized from the toys left behind that Ellie must be fairly young. His eyes fell on the wall leading to the kitchen, which was covered in pictures, and he drifted over to it.   
  
    Frames of all shapes and sizes, pictures of Eric and his family. In one where they were all together, he held a small baby in his arms while a little girl in a pink dress held onto Marjorie's hand. The pictures where the girls were older...well, Eric wasn't in them. The girl in the pink dress was a little bit sadder.   
  
    Then there was a wedding photo. Eric and Marjorie posed by the cake joyously, Marjorie with long lace sleeves and Eric with giant sideburns and a mustachioed grin. But then, suddenly, Sam saw another face in his mind. A soft brunette with wavy hair and a wide smile. Sam fed her a piece of cake and she giggled, trying to stay composed for their pictures. But she couldn't hold herself back with him, and she doubled over with laughter. He remembered how he loved that laugh.   
  
    Donna. His throat tightened as the memories came back to him. His wife. It took everything in him to keep himself together at this moment. His knees felt weak.   
  
    He gently touched the photo. How could he forget her again?   
  
    "I loved that mustache."   
  
    Sam was pushed back to the present, and he attempted to act normal. "It was certainly a look," he said with a masking grin.   
  
    "You had it when we first met. Remember?"   
  
    A pause. He looked toward Marjorie thoughtfully. "Why don't you remind me?"   
  
\-------  
  
_Sam was a bundle of nerves. Jittery, (mostly) excited nerves, but nerves nonetheless. He wanted to make a good first impression, so he'd rented a suit. It was slightly too big on him, but it was too late to change now. He was never concerned with looking sharp until he really needed to, and then he found he had no skill at it. But never mind. He was here now and this was going to be great. As he took his first steps onto Starbright property, he was full of optimistic enthusiasm for a new start. Today was the beginning of the rest of his life.  
  
    Getting inside the facility was a huge to-do. This had required at least two forms of ID, a fingerprint scan, and an escort into the car park. He'd never worked in such a secretive place before. He'd played at Carnegie hall and this was still intimidating. But it made him feel more than ever that this was important work and he couldn't mess this up. Pulling at his collar, he gulped and strode confidently inside.   
  
    And immediately got himself lost.  
  
    This was embarrassing. He never liked to find himself out of his element, but especially not now. A photographic memory was useless in a new place, so he hoped he'd find someone who could help him with as little shame as possible. He noticed movement in an office nearby, so he sheepishly made his way over.   
  
    He stopped in the doorway. She was beautiful. Understated, but gorgeous. Her brown hair was clipped back but still hung over her shoulders, and she bit her lip as she concentrated on packing the box on her desk. Taken aback by her beauty, Sam forgot he'd come in to ask something.   
  
    The woman felt his eyes on her and looked up over her glasses, annoyed. "Can I help you?"   
  
    Suddenly, Sam was tongue-tied. Blushing, he looked to the floor. "I--I, um...lo--I'm lost."   
  
    Sighing tiredly, she placed her hands on her hips. "Well where do you need to go?"   
  
    "Admiral Benton--Um, I need to find his office."  
  
    "Then you're in the wrong wing. You need the east wing; you're in the north." Sam looked confused, and she sighed again. Stepping out from behind her desk, she slid past him and into the hallway. Pointing the way he came, she instructed, "Go down the hall and left until you hit the elevators. Up one floor, and straight down the first right. There should be signs."   
  
    Sam realized his face was still red at her proximity, and he ducked his head down in embarrassment before uttering a quick thank you. This office had gotten pretty chilly. He was about to leave when she spoke up.   
  
    "Hey, I know you, don't I?"  
  
    Sam would remember her. Definitely. "I don't think so."  
  
    The woman squinted and shook her head. "No, I've definitely seen you before." When the realization hit her, her stern features shifted. "Wait a minute! You're Sam Beckett, aren't you?"   
  
    Sam grinned nervously. "Yep, that's me."   
  
    Her face lit up. Immediately, her attitude was lost. "I've read your papers. I'm a big fan of your work."   
  
    "Really?" Sam asked, surprised. He frowned. "I mean, not that you wouldn't--or couldn't--I just didn't expect you--" He sighed and hung his head again. "Please stop me."   
  
    The woman laughed. As embarrassed as he was, Sam loved the sound of it. At least she thought he was funny. "It's okay. You're not the first guy to think that." She blew out a disappointed breath. "It's a shame we won't be working together. I'd love to pick your brain."   
  
    "Maybe we'll see each other around," Sam pointed out hopefully as his confidence grew.   
  
    "I'm afraid not," she responded as she motioned to the box on her desk, "Today's my last day. If only you came here a little sooner."   
  
    "Or you stayed a little later."   
  
    She grinned in regretful agreement and leaned against her desk.   
  
    Too late. Apparently time had other plans. With polite disappointment, Sam shifted his briefcase to his left hand and extended his right to her. "Well it was nice meeting you anyway, Miss..." He read her name plaque on the desk, "Eleese."   
  
    She took his hand. "Donna."   
  
\-------  
  
    "Ah, hello, Dr. Beckett. Please, come in." Admiral Benton stood up to shake Sam's hand as he entered his office. He was as polished as his expensive office, his dark skin a contrast to his dress whites. He motioned toward the chair in front of his desk. "I've heard a lot about you."   
  
    "Good things, I hope," Sam said half-jokingly as he sat down.   
  
    "You have quite a reputation," Benton said, although whether that was a confirmation of Sam's wishful thinking was unclear. He folded his hands on his desk. "Captain Calavicci definitely thought so." There was a certain tone to his voice when he said Captain Calavicci's name, something Sam couldn't quite place. Regardless, Sam was flattered.   
  
    "Thank you." He hoped he wasn't sweating through his suit. "I hope I can live up to that reputation. I can't wait to get started. Oh, um--" Reaching beside him, he picked up his briefcase. "If you have time, we could go over some ideas I have that--"  
  
    With an amused smirk, Benton lifted his hand to stop him. "Well, we'll see about that. First, you need to work your way up around here. Start small."   
  
    Sam's hands were stopped mid-clasp. "Oh. I see. Sorry, I just assumed." He lowered the suitcase again, nodding respectfully. "Where do you need me right now?"  
  
    "Oh, we've got something very important for you to do."  
  
\-------  
  
    As he heard snickering in the hall, Sam slid another folder under 'F' and slammed the filing cabinet shut. He lost count of how many this was now, but the unsorted pile on the desk hardly seemed to have a dent in it. His face flushed red and he dropped angrily into his chair.   
  
    He was better than this. He had seven degrees, and the last three days he'd been relegated to filing duty. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for, and so far he'd clocked the most time in the basement. This couldn't be why he was here. It was a waste of a good mind. But more to the point, he didn't like getting jerked around.   
  
    By now he was used to some people in the scientific community thinking he was a joke. He'd learned to ignore the stares and the amused whispers because he had the conviction to follow the path he'd set for himself, and he'd worked hard for every accomplishment and every ounce of respect he'd been given. But he wasn't sure why he'd been hired at Starbright if they were in the joke camp. It was like he was in high school again, and his shortened stay there was as much as he'd wanted. But he wasn't going to take it anymore.   
  
    He knew he had great ideas, and he was going to make them listen. He'd rather be fired than squander his time.   
  
\-------  
  
    Meeting fully underway, the conference doors flew open and in came Sam. A room of confused military personnel looked toward him, and Admiral Benton got to his feet. "Dr. Beckett, we're in the middle of--"  
  
    "I want you to take a look at my blueprints for the probe, Admiral."    
  
    "You can't just barge in here unannounced."  
  
    "How else am I gonna get you to listen?" Sam questioned hotly. Without asking, he placed his briefcase on the table and opened it up.   
  
    Now Benton was really irked. "I could have you fired for this."  
  
    "Admiral, I promise, if this isn't what you're looking for...I'll get out of your hair forever." Sam laid the blueprints out and pressed his hands onto the table, meeting Benton's gaze confidently. "But I guarantee you'll want me."  
  
    Without looking down, Benton started for the door. He was having none of this. "That's it. I'm having you escorted out."   
  
    "Benton. Take a look at this." It was Ipstein. Her eyes were on the blueprints, a look of awe on her face. Benton stopped and she looked up with a grin. "This design is genius."  
  
    A beat. Not changing his expression, Benton returned to the table and finally saw Sam's layout.   
  
    And then he cracked. His mouth fell open, ever so slightly.   
  
    "This could get us light-years faster," Ipstein continued, "It would save us years of work. Billions of dollars." She pointed. "Wow, I wouldn't even think of that..."  
  
    Now the entire table was staring at Sam differently. His grin was plastered on his face.   
  
    Shortly after, he was put in charge of the team._


	2. Chapter 2

    Marjorie's reminiscing was interrupted by the sound of gravel under tires, and she straightened up. With a look of excited support, she stroked Sam's hand and said, "This is it. You ready?"   
  
    Sam nodded affirmatively. "As I'll ever be."   
  
    They got up from the kitchen table and made their way back into the living room just as the front door was opening. Quick as a flash, a little girl with a head full of red curls ran inside, squealing with delight. Just behind her came an older girl (Christina) with the same red hair, cut short, dressed in a tailored coat that read older than she looked, and a young man about the same age with a large nose and thick eyebrows. That must be Michael.  
  
    The littlest one, Ellie presumably, started a beeline toward the couch with the stuffed rabbit, but came to a halt when she saw Sam. Suddenly shy, she took her sister's hand and placed the other in her mouth as she hid slightly behind her.   
  
    Swallowing nervously, Sam gave a little wave. "Hi there."   
  
    The little girl looked to her mother. Marjorie smiled encouragingly. "It's okay, Ellie. I want you to meet someone very special." She circled behind Christina and took Ellie's hand, leading her closer to Sam. Stooping down next to her, she said happily, "Ellie...this is Daddy. He's come back home."  
  
    With those words, Sam's heart broke. He wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him before. Ellie didn't remember her father. She'd been a baby when he had the accident, so she'd never had a chance to know him. Growing up without a father had been all she'd ever experienced.   
  
    Uncertain but with the optimism of a child, Ellie slowly stepped closer before giving Sam a joyful hug. He crouched down to hug her back.  
  
    Christina, however, did not share the same warm welcome. She was observing Sam with hard features and mistrusting eyes. A perplexing reaction for someone who _did_ remember her father.   
  
    Ellie's attention was spent on this stranger, and now she'd diverted her focus back to what she'd been rushing inside for. She grabbed her rabbit, sat on the couch, and turned on the TV.   
  
    Sam stood up and faced Christina. Ignoring her cold expression, he smiled. "Hi, Christina."  
  
    She said nothing. Her eyes flicked over to her mother, then to Michael. "I'm going to my room." And she started to leave before Marjorie grabbed her arm to stop her.   
  
    "Don't you want to see your father?"   
  
    "No."   
  
    Marjorie's eyes were wide with disbelief. "But, sweetie, he's--"  
  
    "I don't need to see him. We've been fine without him for seven years."  
  
    Confused by her temper, Sam thought maybe he should step in. "Maybe we can talk--"  
  
    "No!" Christina burst out, looking at him again, "I don't want to talk." But there was hurt behind her eyes, deep enough to cut through her stony veneer. She shook her head, overwhelmed. "I just got over you leaving us. Why did you have to come back now?!" And with that, she fled into her room and slammed the door.   
  
    This Ellie understood. She ducked down behind the couch fearfully and Marjorie went to console her. That left Sam with Michael, and he wasn't entirely sure how he fit into all this.   
  
    Michael was equal parts embarrassed and sympathetic, but he kept his composure. He offered his hand to Sam and said respectfully, "Mr. Horn, I'm Michael. Christina's...fiancé. It's an honor to finally meet you, sir."   
  
    So he didn't know him previously. That made it easier. He took his hand. "Nice to meet you too."  
  
    "I wish we could've met under better circumstances." Michael looked toward Christina's door. "I'm sorry. She's just having a difficult time with this. She...took it really hard when you had your accident. Or so I hear. She's not usually this angry."  
  
    "It's okay," Sam said thoughtfully, looking in the same direction, "I understand." He pursed his lips as the gears began to turn in his head. "Sometimes people lash out when they're hurt."   
  
\-------  
  
_Basking in the glow of his newfound clout, Sam adjusted the luminous blue star he had pinned proudly to his shirt. The day had flown by for him, but now that the sun had long since set and the rest of the team had gone home, he was starting to feel just how lengthy it was. But, Sam being Sam, he still had a lot of work to do. He had just begun typing when his stomach rumbled and reminded him that he hadn't eaten since lunch.  
  
    The nearest snack machine was a few hallways down. Reaching into his pocket for loose change, he went over numbers in his head as he walked. But as he got closer, he was startled by a loud noise.   
  
    _ BANG! BANG BANG! _  
  
    "Not you too, you son of a bitch! You're not taking another cent from me!"   
  
    Instantly Sam jumped into action, racing toward the sound and skidding to a halt. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find, but it wasn't whatever this was. A drunk middle-aged man was arguing with the vending machine, dressed in what could only be described as a shirt made of melted crayons, and wielding a hammer.   
  
    Receiving no response from the machine, he spat out, "That's it! I've had enough of you!" And he lifted the hammer and smashed it several times into the front.  
  
    "Hey!" Sam yelled scoldingly, trying to put a stop to this snack machine violence, "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
    The man stopped and stumbled back, unphased. He glowered at Sam. "None of your business. This is between me an'..._ this thing _." He said 'this thing' as if it left him with a bad taste. Lifting the hammer again and suddenly fired up, he began to repeatedly bring it down while cursing in Italian.  
  
    This time, Sam stepped in and grabbed him. "Hey! Stop that!"   
  
    "Get offa me!" the man shouted furiously, attempting to yank himself away. Sam almost backed away, he reeked so badly of booze. "It ate my dime!"   
  
    But it was Sam who won this pitiful fight. It wasn't difficult to steal his weapon, since the man's inebriated hands had a tenuous grip at best. He stared at the drunk incredulously. "You can't just go around hitting things with a hammer! What're you, crazy?"  
  
    It seemed the guy wasn't too dedicated to his crusade for his lost dime, as he immediately made a disgusted noise and dismissed Sam with a wave. He clunked down onto a nearby bench like a sack of potatoes.   
  
    Sam blinked at the easy victory. He stood there awkwardly with the hammer.  
  
    As if this strange scuffle hadn't just occurred, the man grinned lopsidedly at the floor and chuckled, suddenly lost in a memory. "Ruthie, she used to do this thing where...where she'd bake with a can of Sprite. Add it right to the mix. An' out came a cake." He shaped the imaginary cake with his hands, amazed. Halfway through, he forgot what he was pantomiming and began to outline a pair of imaginary breasts. Then he looked up at Sam, suddenly remembering his original topic of conversation, and pointed sagely. "Listen, kid. You find a woman who likes to cook for you as much as Ruthie...ya keep her."   
  
    "You should go home to her then," Sam suggested.   
  
    "What home?" the man chuckled, his temper beginning to resurface, "As of today, all I've got are another set of divorce papers!"   
  
    "Oh. I'm...I'm sorry."  
  
    "Pffft. You're sorry? Yeah, the whole thing's sorry. I'm sorry. The world's sorry." The drunk pulled himself to his feet, staggering and nearly falling over. Sam reached out to catch him, but he steadied himself.   
  
    "Where are you going then?"  
  
    "To the bar."  
  
    This was pathetic. The guy was three sheets to the wind and he was heading to the bar? Someone could get hurt. "I don't think that's such a good idea."  
  
    The man raised an eyebrow and squinted one eye curiously at him. "Oh yeah? And who're you, the hall monitor?"   
  
    "Just someone's who's concerned."   
  
    "A real boy scout, huh?" The man chuckled again and swayed slightly. "Just what I need, a choir boy tellin' me what to do."   
  
    Sam studied him quizzically. He could sense things about people sometimes, and there was something there under the surface, something intriguing which drew him in. Beneath the anger and the booze was a spark of something indescribable. He felt as if he should know him, or did. That deep down, there was a good person who was in trouble.  
  
    "Listen, um...is there someone I can call for you?"   
  
    The man shook his head. "No. No one," he mumbled.   
  
    "You have somewhere to go?"  
  
    "Yeah."  
  
    "Where?"   
  
    "You always this nosy?" the guy asked with a glare. Sam pursed his lips at him as he began to stumble away. "It's close. I'll walk there."   
  
    "I can drive you."  
  
    "I got it! Jeez..."   
  
    Before Sam could protest, he was shuffling away and into the nearest elevator. As long as he wasn't driving, Sam supposed. The door dinged shut.   
  
    He looked back at the destroyed vending machine and wondered what the real story was. It couldn't just be the divorce the man had mentioned, it had to be the accumulation of many terrible things. Something told him he'd been through a lot; his face read of a long, storied experience.   
  
    That's when Sam noticed a wallet on the floor. It must have fallen out of the man's pocket while he was inflicting the damage. Well...maybe Sam could find out who exactly he was. He hadn't seen him around the Project. Curiously, he picked it up and opened it.   
  
    It was the man who had hired him. Albert Calavicci.   
  
\-------  
  
    After a half-night's rest, Sam was back at Starbright and ready to keep working. He wasn't the slightest bit tired, because when he was passionate about something his mind kept him awake, and he had some things he wanted to run by the team. His bright-eyed starts to the day were both an asset and an annoyance to those who were less awake in the morning. But before he could begin to spitball ideas, he had the less exciting weekly meeting with some of the other higher-ups. A dull but otherwise necessary event.   
  
    He was a little bit early and another conference was still in session, so Sam waited outside and sipped his coffee.   
  
    He wasn't one to snoop. But.  
  
    "I'm sure you understand, Captain Calavicci." It was Benton.   
  
    The gravelly, now more sober voice of the man he'd encountered the night before responded. "Yes, Admiral. I understand." He was much quieter than he'd been before, but a certain acidity still corroded the words.   
  
    "It's nothing personal. We simply can't spare the funds."  
  
    "Of course, Admiral Benton, _ sir _." The last part silently seethed.  
  
    "See you Friday then. You're dismissed."   
  
    Jolted as if he was about to be caught by an angry teacher, Sam swerved out of sight just as the door opened. Out came Captain Calavicci, dressed in uniform. It helped his appearance some, but he clearly hadn't slept off his drinking binge yet. Looking defeated, he nonetheless straightened himself up and walked away with as much dignity as he could muster.   
  
    Sam frowned. He turned the corner again and entered the conference room.   
  
    Benton was shuffling some papers alongside a few others. He looked up. "Dr. Beckett. You're early." His tone toward Sam had changed completely since they'd first met. All of a sudden he was someone equal and respected. How the tables turn when you realize the genius you hired really is a genius.   
  
    Sam motioned behind him toward the door. "What was that about?"   
  
    "Hm? Oh." Benton straightened up. "That was Captain Calavicci. We're cutting down his hours. We're a bit tight on funds at the moment."  
  
    Ipstein, who was passing by, gave a smug grin and leaned in toward Sam conspiratorially. "Don't worry about your money being cut, doctor. It's just a nice way of saying we're phasing him out."   
  
    Sam furrowed his brows. "Why?"   
  
    "Let's just say we no longer need his services. He'll be gone by the end of the month." Benton shared a look with the others. They all seemed in on the same joke. It infuriated Sam. This was wrong. He didn't work his way up to become the exact kind of person who had treated him like a nut.   
  
    So he did something impulsively.   
  
    "Now, if we could begin--"  
  
    "I'm sorry, sir, but--I don't accept that."  
  
    Benton blinked, caught off guard. "What was that?"  
  
    "You can't fire Captain Calavicci." Sam stepped closer and straightened up.  
  
    The room was confused silence for a moment. Benton chuckled, seemingly convinced he was kidding around. "What are you on about, Beckett?"  
  
    Sam swallowed nervously and hoped they wouldn't notice. He knew this was rash and even he wasn't entirely certain why he was doing this. "I mean, if you fire Calavicci...I'll walk."   
  
    "You can't be serious," Ipstein said with disbelief.   
  
    "I am serious. His department is integral to this project." Sam was unswayed, more confident now. And seeing as how he couldn't gamble anything else at this point, he decided to test his power. He added, "And...you'll give him his hours back."   
  
    The room stared at him. He could tell Benton was livid, but he too stayed silent. Sam knew, and they knew, that he was too important to this project now to let go. If he walked, they were in trouble.   
  
    The captain was back the next day.   
  
\-------  
  
    After several long and rewarding hours, Sam dismissed his team and began to collect his things in preparation to go home. Just as he did so, someone coughed behind him.   
  
    "Dr. Beckett. Can we have a moment?"  
  
    It was, not unexpectedly, Captain Calavicci. Sam figured they would cross paths again sooner or later, it was just a question of when. As the young team members walked past the man in the doorway, his eyes slid over them as he tried to look respectable.  
  
    Sam was looking forward to officially meeting him. He grinned and motioned him inside. "Of course."   
  
    "Thank you." Calavicci stepped inside with a hint of uncertainty, glancing back to make sure everyone was gone before shutting the door. Since he opted to stand, so did Sam.  
  
    The scientist extended a friendly hand. "It's nice to meet you again, sir."   
  
    Remembering their previous encounter, Calavicci took his hand with some embarrassment. "Yeah, well, uh..." Finding nothing suitable to say, he loudly cleared his throat and scratched his head. Even in his uniform, he didn't look like much of a captain.   
  
    "So what can I help you with, Captain?"  
  
    He licked his lips and went rigid again, trying to exude some authoritative distance. "You put your job on the line for me."   
  
    "I guess I did."   
  
    "Why?"  
  
    Sam was taken aback by the gruff, almost hostile tone. Did he do something wrong? Evidently something was bothering the man he'd just saved. He shrugged. "I guess it just seemed like the right thing to do."  
  
    Calavicci's mouth became a hard line and he narrowed his eyes. He looked as if they were playing a game, and he was strategizing. "Okay," he said knowingly, "what's your angle?"   
  
    "What do you mean?"   
  
    "I mean, what's it gonna cost me?" the captain asked, then chuckled sardonically, "If it's money you want, you hit up the wrong guy, buddy."   
  
    "I don't want anything," Sam answered with a confused frown.  
  
    "Someone always wants something."   
  
    "I really don't."  
  
    The captain peered at him suspiciously, trying to figure him out. He waited for the other shoe to drop, but Sam just watched him with puzzlement. "Bullshit. No one's that nice of a guy."   
  
    "I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you,'" Sam retorted with frustration, decidedly less nice. He wasn't ready for an attack here, when he'd saved his butt. What exactly did he want? He began to fume while Calavicci nodded as if his suspicions about him were confirmed.   
  
    "So what's the price?"   
  
    Sam pinched his nose and sighed. He was beginning to regret his good deed. Calavicci didn't exactly make himself easy to like, did he? It was obvious this guy didn't want saving, or was maybe too drunk to care.  
  
    Then, an idea struck him. He shook off his anger.   
  
    "Actually...there's one thing you could do for me."   
  
    "Ah, here we go..."  
  
    "I want you to stop drinking."   
  
    Calavicci's face froze, deadpan and boggled. "What?"   
  
    "That's my term," Sam repeated simply, leaning against the table and crossing his arms, "I want you to sober up. Take it or leave it."   
  
    A long pause. Calavicci was again trying to figure him out, a single eye perpetually squinting at him. No additional charges were forthcoming.   
  
    "That's it?"   
  
    "That's it."   
  
    "It can't be that easy."  
  
    As the perplexed captain watched him, Sam unfolded his arms and returned to collecting his things. "Well I wouldn't be here if you didn't give me a chance. I'm just returning the favor." As he turned to go, he pulled out Captain Calavicci's wallet and handed it back to him. With another friendly grin, he left the man in surprised silence.   
  
_ \-------  
  
    Ellie clasped her hand over her mouth and snorted. "Dogs aren't supposed to be green!"  
  
    "Why not?"  
  
    A shrug. "Because...they aren't."  
  
    "Ohhhh..." Sam put down his crayon and leaned forward. "Well, you see, this dog is very special. There's a reason he's green." Ellie listened intently, and he picked up his drawing dramatically. "This dog...is _Stinky_ , the smelliest dog in the world!" The little girl crinkled her nose and squealed in disgusted delight. "He rolls around in garbage all day and night, and eats garlic sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And he never, _ever_ takes baths."   
  
    "Maybe he wouldn't be green if he did!"  
  
    "You know, that's a good point," Sam said thoughtfully, pointing to her picture, "Maybe your kitty cat can show him how."  
  
    "Yeah!" Ellie agreed excitedly, picking up both drawings, "I'm gonna show Mommy!" And with that, she raced out of the kitchen.   
  
  Would this have been Sam's life if he'd stayed with Donna? Did she want children? He couldn't remember. Nor did he remember, actually, if they already did. He thought not, but he felt right at home taking care of Ellie. Was she the reason he leaped here? He hoped nothing happened to her.   
  
    "That was a good drawing."   
  
    To Sam's surprise, it was Christina. Arms folded uncomfortably, she hovered in the doorway, unsure of how far to come inside. Sam raised his eyebrows. "What do you think? Good enough to put on the fridge?"   
  
    "Maybe next to Ellie's," she answered, grinning despite herself. She edged a little further inside, eyeing the crayons with bittersweet fondness. "Do you...remember coloring with me, Dad?"   
  
    A pause. Sam smiled. "How could I forget?"  
  
    Christina's grin held a sadness behind it, tears brimming in her eyes. She stepped closer. "I would bring my crayons to the hospital, so when you woke up, we could..." She stopped and averted her eyes, blinked away the tears. When she looked up again, she looked apologetic. "I couldn't keep waiting for you, Daddy. I grew up. I'm sorry."   
  
    She couldn't keep back the tears now. As she began to sob, Sam quickly made his way over and held her close. She latched herself tightly around him. He just wanted her to feel safe and loved, to take away some of the burden she'd needlessly put on herself. "Oh Christina..." Suddenly, he _did_ remember a little girl. She had a ribbon in her hair and he clutched her close to him in a hot court room. With the flood of memories, he dug his fingers into Christina's shirt and shut his eyes tightly. "You'll always be my little girl. I love you. I'm...I'm sorry I left."   
  
    _Don't let go of her. Don't let go._    
  
    "I love you so much!" When she at last felt ready, Christina sniffled and pulled back, and Sam reluctantly let her go. "I'm getting married, Daddy. And I want you to walk me down the aisle."   
  
    Sam grinned, wiping away some of her tears. "Of course I will."  
  
    If he was still here. He hoped to god it wasn't an empty promise. He'd made too many already.  
  
\-------  
  
_"String Theory?"  
  
    "Just listen, it's simple." Sam had one of his shoes off and was taking out the shoelace with enthusiasm, unaware of how strange he must look. Which was just fine, since Al's office was empty except for the two of them. Though sometimes he was so lost in his own bubble, he'd be oblivious in a crowd. He held up the shoelace and showed it to Al importantly. "Think of this string as your life. One end is your birth, and the other is your death. And if you tie the ends together, your life becomes a loop."  
  
    "Uh-huh." Al's eyebrow remained quirked, wondering where he was going with this. If that's how he wanted to spend their lunch break, alright. The kid was always entertaining, even if he didn't always quite understand him.   
  
    Sam finished tying the shoelace, then crumpled the string into his fist. "But if you ball the string, all the points of your life touch each other out of sequence. Therefore, you could..._ leap _, from one point to another within your own lifetime." He smiled widely and waited for Al's response.  
  
    Al gently wiped egg salad off of his face. "And this is how one could, theoretically...time travel?"  
  
    "Exactly! I came up with it with an old professor of mine." Sam began to lace up his shoe again, still buzzing with excitement. "That's how we're going to do it."   
  
    "Do what?" Al asked distractedly through another bite of his sandwich.   
  
    "Time travel."   
  
    Al glanced up. Sam was staring at him now, Beckett grin in place. He had that look Al was all too familiar with by now, that he was going to achieve something mad and maybe some extra credit too. This was far from their first time travel talk, but it was the first time Sam had that look along with it. It made Al nervous as hell.   
  
    "Al." He leaned forward. He was certain of himself. "I'm going to travel in time. I'm going to start my own project, and I want you to run it with me."  
  
    This was some heavy stuff. Any other person would pause a moment after such a proposition, to make sure if Sam was joking. But Al knew he wasn't because he knew Sam. Which made him pause for a different reason. "You're really serious about this then?"   
  
    "Of course I am," Sam said. He shrugged. "I mean, it's just a dream right now. The cost would be astronomical, but...I want you to be part of it whenever it happens. What do you say?"  
  
    Al had put down the sandwich by now to think. He slanted his mouth and scratched his temple. "I, uh, don't know what to say, Sam. I mean...are you sure?"  
  
    Sam knew he wasn't asking about the project. He didn't know why, but Al always seemed to question what Sam saw in him as a friend. Like it was too good to be true, and any minute Sam would find someone better and leave. And it was true that their friendship had been unlikely, but Sam had never met anyone he'd cared about as much as Al. He'd never had quite such an unusual and rewarding relationship.   
  
    "I wouldn't tell you about it if I wasn't sure. I trust you, Al." Sam looked down and gave a lopsided grin as he fiddled with a pen. "You're one of the only people who doesn't think I'm crazy. And you're my best friend."   
  
    Al paused, touched. "You really mean that, Sam?"   
  
    "Yeah."   
  
    Al looked down again. He nodded. "Okay. You show me the door outta this place, and I'll come work with you." He picked up his sandwich and gestured with it. "But it's gonna be a long way off, buddy."   
  
    Sam frowned, slightly hurt. "You don't believe my theory?"   
  
    "Oh, I believe you can travel in time," Al said with ease, waving around the sandwich, "But good luck getting that kind of funding, buddy." He shook his head, and Sam laughed into his hand.   
  
    Telling someone else about his string theory was relieving. He had been holding onto it for some time, but he was reluctant to bring it up to anyone he didn't trust completely. It was one thing to take an interest in time travel, and another entirely to actually attempt it. He didn't want to let the cat out of the bag until he was certain, until he could prove he wasn't the nut some people thought he was. People didn't understand him, and that's why he found it hard to keep close friendships.   
  
    That's why he liked Al. He was interested in what was in his head, even if it took him a bit to catch up. But beyond that, he liked who Sam was, and not who he pretended to be or what he could do for him. At the same time, Sam wished he could have some of his bravado and charm. Al said what he thought and took risks.   
  
    So it was high time he took some risks of his own.   
  
\-------  
  
    "Donna Eleese? _ That _cold fish? You'd have better luck getting a date with Gooshie." Al gave Sam a hopeless look and threw open his filing cabinet. Actually, Sam had gotten her number from Gooshie, but that was beside the point.  
  
    "You only think she's a cold fish because she turned you down," Sam pointed out, contemplating the paper in his hand. He had the number memorized already, he just liked looking at it. It was a good stalling tactic as well, because he was terrified. He hadn't asked a woman out in a long time, and he'd had...mixed results. There was that high school feeling again.   
  
    "Exactly," Al responded, stopping his shuffling through files to lean against the filing drawer and look him in the eye, "And it's not just me, pal. I'm telling you, she's got issues with men."   
  
    "She didn't seem to have issues when I talked to her."  
  
    "You talked to her _ once _, Sam. I worked with her for two years. Trust me, this goes deep."  
  
\-------  
  
    "For the last time, Dr. Beckett, _ no _." Donna slammed down the phone, expelled a deep breath, and collapsed onto her couch. This had been the third call she'd fielded from the famous young scientist that week, and she was getting tired of answering.  
  
    At least, that's what she told herself. Because if she was being honest, she'd say she was frightened.  
  
    She admired Sam Beckett's work, and she'd found him likable during their only encounter. And yes...he was good looking. But. And there was always that 'but' in her mind, stopping her in her tracks. He was a guy. And guys, fundamentally, were a letdown. Guys left girlfriends behind. Left daughters behind. Left her behind. If she opened up that trust again, she'd be alone.   
  
    Like she was now, it occurred to her.   
  
    The phone rang again.   
  
    The corners of her mouth turned up, but she quickly hid it from herself. She lifted the phone from its cradle and held it wordlessly to her ear.   
  
    "Just one date. That's all I'm asking. If you don't like it, I'll take you home and never bother you again. Please."  
  
    A scared pause. "Why do you keep pushing, Sam?"   
  
    He thought for a moment. "Because...you seem like someone worth knowing," he stated as if it were obvious.   
  
    Well. He _ was _cute.  
  
\-------  
  
    The restaurant was...unexpected. For someone so desperate for a chance, Donna had expected to go someplace a little nicer. Much to her pleasant surprise, they'd gone to a small burger joint off the beaten path in Taos. It was quiet and cozy, but not too intimate to be uncomfortable. For her, anyway. Despite Sam's enthusiasm, he'd been shaking and nervous when he'd arrived. It wasn't long, however, before he'd loosened up and they were both laughing.   
  
    They had a lot in common, it turned out. Donna was a fan of classical music, and Sam was a skilled pianist. They enjoyed a lot of the same books and admired many of the same people. They discussed the stars and what they could of their work and their favorite foods and places. Against all better judgment, Donna was finding herself drawn in to this unique soul. And Sam, blushing and occasionally tripping over his words, seemed enraptured by her. Time flew by without either of them noticing.   
  
    "There's so few women in the scientific field," Donna said over their dessert, "and even fewer recognized for it. I want to break that mold, be someone, you know?" She took a bite.  
  
    "That sounds like a great goal," Sam said with a dopey but sincere grin as he leaned on the table, reaching over to get his own forkful of cheesecake.   
  
    "Says the child prodigy," Donna teased, "All of this always came easy to you, didn't it? The rest of us have to work a little harder."  
  
    Sam looked down, shrugged humbly. "I've had my ups and downs. But I wouldn't say it was easy. I just always saw things differently." He looked up. "But what about you? What got you into science?"  
  
    Donna peered at her fork, considered it, and set it down. "Well, I wanted to know why things happen to people." When she realized Sam was waiting for more, she smiled thoughtfully. "I figured if I could decipher the why, I could predict the pattern...and see the future."   
  
    "But what if the pattern changed?"  
  
    "Then it wouldn't be a pattern, it would be random."   
  
    Sam laughed and shook his head. "Why does it have to be set in stone? The future is what we make it, right?"   
  
    "I suppose," Donna agreed with a smirk. It was refreshing to meet someone with less cynicism.   
  
    Now Sam was turning something over in his head, debating something. He licked his lips and crossed his arms over the table, leaning forward with excitement. "What do you think about time travel?"   
  
    "Time travel?"   
  
    "Yeah. It's a personal interest of mine."   
  
    Donna thought over her words carefully before answering. "I think theoretically it could be possible, sure."   
  
    "Time fascinates me," Sam said with a look that only came from passion about the subject matter. He began to gesture with his hands as he spoke. "Because I want to know why things happen too. Time is an unexplored frontier, and if we could harness its power, there's no end to what we could learn. Can you imagine what it would be like to leap into history? To see the very building blocks that make the present?"   
  
    Donna was smiling now too. His vivacity was catching. "That sounds wonderful, Sam."   
  
    Sam was really giddy now. "I have a theory. Can I borrow that?" He pointed at the ribbon in her hair. Slightly taken aback, Donna nodded and took it out for him. "Thank you." He held it up. "One end of this is your birth, and the other is your death. Now if you ball it up," he did so, "all of the points of your life touch each other out of sequence--"  
  
    "--and you could go from point to point within your own lifetime." Donna's eyes lit up, and Sam's smiled widened. "I...I had a professor in college who had a theory like that. You might be onto something."   
  
    "You really think so?"   
  
    "I think if anyone can crack the code, it's gotta be the next Einstein."   
  
    Donna was so glad she'd taken a chance on this date. Maybe, just maybe, she'd ask for a second.   
  
\-------  
  
    "Would you relax, Sam? You're getting married, not going to the guillotine."   
  
    It was a hot summer day and the Old Mission Chapel was full of friends and family. And standing by the altar, glistening with perspiration, was Sam, his best man, and the priest. Sam loosened his collar and swallowed. "I'm just nervous. How's my bowtie? Is it crooked? I don't want to look stupid."  
  
    "You look great, pal." Al clapped an encouraging hand on his shoulder and lightly shook him. "Believe me, you're gonna love being married. I do; that's why I've done it four times." He looked into the crowd and gave his wife Sharon a wink. She giggled as their dog Chester fussed in her lap.   
  
    "I know, Al. I know." Sam nodded, trying to seem less nervous. He peered anxiously at the doors for what seemed like the hundredth time. "She's late. What if something happened to her?"   
  
    "She'll be here. Don't worry."   
  
    Sam worried. She'd had her reservations about getting married, especially since she'd broken off an engagement once before. But she wouldn't have let it go this far if she didn't mean it, right? God, why was it so hot in here?   
  
    Just as he was about to pass out from holding his breath, the doors opened. And there she was, looking more radiant than he ever thought possible. Her eyes fell on him and lit up with such love, like they were the only two in the room. Every ounce of worry melted away. He was going to spend the rest of his life with her.  
  
_ \-------  
  
    Except, she hadn't come, had she?   
  
    No, that wasn't right. Sam knew that she did, because he married her.  
  
    But he remembered. On a leap. He told Al she had left him at the altar. She'd had trouble trusting men because her father left her, but then...then Sam had changed that. As her English professor, he took her to see her father before he left for Vietnam. That gave her enough trust back to change her life, and Sam's in the process.   
  
    Just like he'd planned.  
  
\-------  
  
_"I don't understand why this isn't working!" Sam yelled with frustration, throwing himself into a chair and pinching his nose, "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."  
  
    "I told you funding would be tricky, kid," Al said as he entered, taking off his colorful scarf, "It's always like pulling teeth."   
  
    "It didn't take me this long to get extra funds for the probe."   
  
    "You've got _ leverage _here. But asking a bunch of bureaucratic nozzles for time travel money in the real world? Nu-uh."  
  
    "But the science is sound," Sam said plainly, confused.   
  
    Al rolled his eyes. Sam could be a numbskull sometimes. "I know that, Sam, and you know that, but these types...they want Dick and Jane explanations. Ya gotta sell it. Have a little panache. Talk like those of us who aren't mega geniuses."  
  
    Sam took a deep breath through his nostrils in annoyance. "It shouldn't be about the 'panache,' Al, it should be about the science. And I know this will work. Sometimes it feels like I'm alone here."   
  
    "Hey, you got me and the missus, right?" Al pointed out, "So that makes two." Sam peered between his fingers gratefully, and Al grinned. "We believe in ya, Sam. Trust me, it'll happen."   
  
\-------  
  
    With great gusto, Sam slammed the shovel hard into the ground and dug up the first bit of soil that would build Project Quantum Leap. The team erupted into cheers, and he, Al, and Donna hugged in celebration. Donna suggested a picture, and Sam and Al posed with their shovels as she snapped a shot to commemorate the moment. Later, it would be displayed in his office.   
  
    It was all ceremonial, of course. The real building would begin with the rest of the team and larger equipment. But with that first shovelful, Sam's impossible dream was becoming closer to reality. They had the funding, and now the real work could begin.   
  
    It was his Nobel Prize that had done it. That got him featured in TIME Magazine and touted as "the next Einstein," which, as it turns out, does wonders for your bankability in the scientific community. The money suddenly came pouring in after that. A lot of old faces were suddenly back and looking a lot friendlier.   
  
    As Sam gazed into the endless sienna and gold desert with his wife and his best friend at his side, nothing but time ahead, he felt whole and truly happy.   
  
    He was home._


	3. Chapter 3

_"Sweetie, come to bed."  
  
    "I'll be there in a bit. I just need to finish these blueprints."   
  
    Donna's arms snaked around his shoulders, and warm lips brushed his neck. "They'll be here in the morning." She rested her chin on his shoulder from behind, and he grinned and kissed her hand.  
  
    "I know," said Sam, "but this is important. This computer is going to be integral to the project, and I need to have everything ready when we officially open the doors." He picked up the blueprint and squinted at it, checking for any imperfections. "This is just the start."   
  
    "Sam." Gently, Donna's hands clasped his and set the blueprint down. Moving into his line of sight, she kneeled down in front of him and made sure their eyes met. "I'm so happy the project is finally happening, and I love how eager you are to get started. I want to get started too. But..." She laughed, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just don't let the work consume you. Okay?"   
  
    Dressed in her robe and hair askew, and tired from the day, Sam thought she looked just as wonderful as ever. And she was, as was often the case, correct. He took her hands in his again, giving his whole attention to her. "You're right. Let's go to bed."   
  
    Donna smiled and led him into the bedroom. Work would be there in the morning.   
  
_ \-------  
  
    A yawn behind Sam made him jump and spin around. There was Al, dressed in a red satin robe with dark circles under his eyes. He looked pretty awful. "Boy am I tired..." As if he hadn't just stepped into a holographic chamber and was only just noticing Sam, he gave a halfhearted wave. "Heya, Sam."   
  
    "Al!" Sam whispered as if to shush him, glancing toward Eric's family in the living room. Satisfied they hadn't been overheard, he jerked his head toward the bedroom and retreated inside. Al followed through the wall as he rubbed his tired eyes. "Where have you been? I haven't heard from you in days."   
  
    "Where have I been?" Al repeated indignantly, "At the Project, where else?" He reached to the left and a bright green coffee cup appeared when he made contact. "It's 3 AM here. I've been pullin' all-nighters tryin' to figure this one out."  
  
    "And?" Sam was getting impatient.   
  
    "And needless to say, we're not getting much from Eric. His death aside, nothing bad happens to his family or anyone you might be interacting with." Placing his cheek in his hand, Al blew out a deep breath. "Nearest we can figure, you don't have any history to change."   
  
    "Of course I have history to change, Al," Sam said with annoyance, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."   
  
    "Yeah, well, uh, that brings me to Ziggy's theory..." Al rubbed his face and cast his eyes to the floor.   
  
    Sam's face lit up. He pointed. "I was right, wasn't I? I'm here to help Eric."   
  
    "In a way, yeah..." He wasn't being prideful, just evasive. When Sam noticed this, he became concerned.   
  
    "What is it?"  
  
    After a moment, Al let the words just tumble out. "Ziggy thinks you're here to help Eric die."  
  
    "What?!"   
  
    "Not literally, Sam," Al answered quickly, lifting up his palms to calm him. Sam was already tensing up. "She means you gotta give Eric the goodbye he never got. And then you can, y'know," he flitted a hand into the air, "move on."   
  
    Taking in this news with a heavy heart, Sam turned away and leaned heavily on the dresser. He'd still had some hope he could've helped Eric, that some miracle would happen. He hit his fist with frustration onto the dresser top. "Why now? Why didn't I leap in before the accident?"   
  
    It was a little bit before Al answered. "I know it's tough, but there are some things you just can't change."   
  
    Sam was _angry_. He _should_ be able to change this. He turned around and watched Al from underneath heavy brows.   
  
    "They lead wonderful lives without him, Sam," Al said sympathetically, walking toward him, "Christina and Michael become doctors, Ellie is in an art college, and Marjorie remarries and has another kid. They just needed that last bit of closure. But...they don't need Eric anymore." He ducked in closer to meet Sam at eye level. "Sometimes ya gotta know when to stop hanging on. It's time for them to let him go."  
  
    It made sense, at least the words did. But Sam wasn't sure he was ready to let go of Eric himself.   
  
\-------  
  
_"You're late. Again." The fury was evident from Donna's voice to her clenched fists. These days, Sam was getting used to coming home feeling guilty. He'd told her not to wait up, but somehow she was always awake when he dragged himself in from the Project.  
  
    "I know," Sam sighed, slogging past her to put away his briefcase, "I'm sorry." This was part of the routine. He'd work until 4 in the morning, apologize for being late, get in 3 hours of sleep, and begin the cycle again. At first, he'd been simply too wrapped up in his fervor to get the experiment working. Now, he was madly working against a deadline he didn't initially know he had.   
  
    Donna followed him. "Are we going to talk about this, Sam?"  
  
    "I can't help it, Donna," Sam said with some irritation, "If I don't prove the experiment will work, they're going to end the project."  
  
    "I know this means a lot to you, but you can't keep working this hard forever. You're going to kill yourself."   
  
    "It's not going to be forever. Just until it works."   
  
    "It's been years, Sam," Donna said sadly, "I need you in the present too." A pause. She studied her hands. "Sometimes it feels like we never got started."   
  
    "What're you talking about?" Sam asked, puzzled.   
  
    "I mean our life," Donna replied as she stepped closer, "I mean starting a family, having kids. Don't you want that?"   
  
    "Of course I do, Donna," Sam answered, exasperated, running his hand through his hair exhaustedly. He couldn't believe she was getting into this now. "When there's time. But I can't put everything on hold right now, not when we're so close."  
  
    Donna sighed. "Sam--"  
  
    "They're going to cut off our funding!" Sam burst out, slamming his hands into the wall. He spun around. "I know my theories are correct! This will work! Why can't anybody else see that?" He was fuming now. Sometimes it was like he was living on a different plane of existence than everyone else.   
  
    Donna grasped his hands firmly, and his anger lessened as he brought his attention back to her. He sheepishly met her eyes. "It's not always about being right, Sam. Sometimes it's about what's important."   
  
    Still after that, he made her wait up. She was still waiting to this day.   
  
_ \-------  
  
    Sam had done it all. He'd decided her fate when he met her younger self all those leaps ago, and decided his own happiness was more important. But he hadn't stopped to think about the consequences. What was her life like before? Did she have someone to come home to? Did he give her the family she wanted? Now that she was married to Sam, did he really have her?   
  
    There was never time.   
  
    Once upon a time, Donna Eleese left Sam Beckett at the altar. She couldn't trust men, because she couldn't trust the father who abandoned her. Twice upon a time, Sam Beckett reunited father and daughter and gave her that trust back. They got married, and he proceeded to break that trust with a single leap. He'd become her father.   
  
    Where was the love in that?   
  
    He'd decided too many fates for selfish reasons.   
  
\-------  
  
_This memory was fuzzier than the others. Try as he might, Sam couldn't recall it. It must have been swiss-cheesed from the leap.  
  
    He was in a church. At a wedding? No, the mood was all wrong. The guests were all somber and dressed in black. Then it must have been...a funeral. But whose? He still didn't remember. He made his way through the crowd to try and find out.   
  
    Up ahead. He could hear a familiar voice. One he hadn't heard...in too long. "I wish I could see him just one more time."   
  
    "Mom?" Sam's spirits lifted. He'd missed her so much. Memory or not, he wanted to see her face again. His pace quickened, his heart pounded, and he could see her standing with--  
  
    With Katie and Tom. But they were different. Older. Older than he remembered. No, this wasn't right. When did this happen? Who had died? And his mother, frail and white, lifted a trembling hand to wipe away her tears. It nearly tore him in two to see her hurting like that.   
  
    "It's not right. A mother should never have to bury her son."  
  
    And there it was behind her, a picture of the deceased, and Sam was shocked to find himself staring at his own face.   
  
    And his heart broke.   
  
    "No," he gasped, shaking his head, "No, this didn't happen. Mom, it's me! I'm alive!" He rushed to her side to comfort her, to prove himself, but when he reached out to touch her, his hand passed through like a hologram.   
  
    Or a ghost.   
  
    "I feel so sorry for Donna," Katie spoke quietly to Tom, "She still acts like he's alive. Al Calavicci acted the same way, right until the day he died."   
  
    What? He didn't hear right. Al couldn't be dead. He was Sam's only constant, it seemed he was the only thing that would always be there. Dying was out of the question. Sam had so much to make up to him for everything he'd done.   
  
    Katie glanced across the room, and there was Donna.  
  
    She looked frail too, and much older than she could've been. Wrinkled and gray, she sat in solitude with her hands folded, back straight and expression defiant. Waiting. Just like Al had done until...  
  
    This couldn't be. Donna was alone. Al was dead. Sam was dead. Or...still leaping. Had he missed all these years? Had he leaped into the future? Did he have time to stop it? But then why could no one hear or see him? Why did he feel like he was dead? Why wasn't he there for the people he loved?   
  
    Why was he hanging on?  
  
_     Sam woke up and he was in 1989 again. And, he realized, there was still time.   
  
\-------  
  
    Christina's wedding was not large or expensive. It was in a small church, much like Old Mission Chapel now that he thought about it, but with much better air conditioning. Or maybe he wasn't sweating because he wasn't the groom this time.   
  
    Maybe he should be sweating. But he was mostly numb. He knew his time here was coming to an end.   
  
    A familiar giggle knocked him out of his melancholia. He grinned when he saw Ellie nearby, drawing near the gift table. Making his way over, he stooped down beside her. "Hey, Ellie. What're you drawing there?"   
  
    "Christie and Mike," she answered, chipper, showing off her work. Two stick figures held hands under a rainbow, Christina in a wedding dress and Michael in a bowtie.   
  
    "Gee, that looks great," Sam praised, impressed, "You know, you've got some real talent. You should keep drawing."   
  
    "Yeah?"  
  
    "Yeah. Who knows?" He shrugged. "Maybe you'll get into an art school."  
  
    "Thanks, Daddy." Ellie smiled a huge smile and kissed him on the cheek.   
  
    Someone cleared their throat, and he glanced up to see Marjorie watching them proudly. "I think we're ready, Eric."   
  
\-------  
  
    Sam was not her father, but he felt the same sense of pride when he first laid eyes on Christina in her beautiful wedding gown, her eyes brimming with happy tears. "You look wonderful, Christina."  
  
    She wrapped her arms tightly around him. "Oh, Daddy!" she sobbed, "I'm so glad you're here. It's all I ever wanted."   
  
    As Sam walked Christina down the aisle and toward her future husband, his mind went to another forgotten soul. Sammy Jo. He wished he could've walked her down the aisle. But...she was grown up before he ever knew her. Was she married? He wanted to know more about her life. He wanted to have been there.   
  
    But, he couldn't. He wasn't. He wouldn't be.   
  
    The ceremony was lovely, and Christina and Michael were lost in each other now, a joyous husband and wife. They shared their first slice of cake, and Sam looked toward Marjorie next to him. He leaned in closer. "I love you, you know. Even more than the day we met."   
  
    Marjorie smiled with misty eyes. Reaching over silently, she clasped his hand tightly.   
  
    Eric did love her. And Sam was glad he could relay the message one last time.   
  
    Sam danced with Christina. She laid her head on his shoulder comfortingly. "I needed you here. More than you'll ever realize."   
  
    "Oh, Christina..." Sam's voice was cracking. He was becoming overwhelmed too. Why did this have to be so hard? "I can't promise I'll always be here for you, but I want you to know that I'm so proud of the woman you've become. I know you and Michael are going to lead a wonderful life."   
  
    "I love you, Daddy."   
  
    "I love you too."   
  
    He knew he wouldn't always be there for her. He knew this was the last time she would ever see her father. But they had now, this moment, where everything was as it should have been. And it was only then that he truly understood why he needed to leap here. This was how he wanted Eric to be remembered. Not as a body in a bed, but as the man he was.   
  
    That's how _he_ wanted to be remembered.   
  
\-------  
  
_When Sam was a child, he'd daydream about time. Why did things happen, and where were they going? When he was older, he wondered if he could ever change it. When he became a man, he dreamed an impossible dream of time travel. He met the people who would help him achieve that goal, the most extraordinary people he'd ever met, and they gave over a decade to this dream.  
  
    A team he could depend on to sweat blood if he needed it, Gooshie, Verbena, Tina, countless others. Al, his closest friend and loyal to a fault, and the greatest confidante he could ask for. His face was lined in a way that seemed mean to those who didn't know him, but Sam's first thoughts of him were always laughter. There's nothing Al wouldn't do for him. And then there was Donna. She was reserved, but when she opened up Sam felt a love like no other from her. She was so smart and quick and kept him on his toes. And she loved him despite his faults, and allowed his dream to blossom.  
  
    With this support, Sam pushed himself beyond the breaking point because he believed in his work. He built a parallel hybrid computer, partially with genetic material, that spoke like a person and had access to endless knowledge spanning decades. Al called him Ziggy. And Sam built a time machine, if only he could use it just yet. The impossible dream was just a possibility away.   
  
    And then, the inevitable happened. The end of this dream, it turned out, was a government committee. They were going to cut the funding.   
  
    While Al was at a charity dinner making one last ditch attempt to save Project Quantum Leap, Sam was in his office deep in thought. His fingers dug into his scalp, reached deep as if to massage his brain. He couldn't still his thoughts.   
  
    After the star struck newness of his Nobel Prize had worn off and no tangible results were in sight, the money stopped rolling in. He had become a laughingstock again. And worse still, those government idiots wanted to use Ziggy for military purposes. As a weapon, or to spy, or maybe worse. Sam would be damned if what he'd built would be used to hurt people. It was infuriating.  
  
    Sam knew he was correct.   
  
    Tonight he would prove it.   
  
    Doctor Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator--and vanished.  
_  
\-------  
  
    Al was in the back, dressed in a tux and swaying to the music. His disposition was upbeat, but Sam could still see dark circles under his eyes. He had a lot more lines, more gray hair, than when Sam had first leaped.   
  
    There was nothing Al wouldn't do for him, and Sam never appreciated it enough. He gave more than one person should give for someone else, and more than Sam should've dared ask for. It was saintly, if saints wore fedoras and smoked cigars. Sam's heart broke for him.   
  
    He pinched his nose, blinked away the tears. Excused himself into the back with a reassuring smile.   
  
    Al followed shortly after, walking through the wall and looking at Sam curiously. "Why aren't you at the party, Sam?" he asked, "Everyone's having a great time. I love weddings! That's why I did it five times." He grinned cheekily.   
  
    Sam laughed. He sniffed and wiped his face.   
  
    "You did great," Al said more sincerely, hands shoved in his pockets, "You should be leaping soon."  
  
    Sam nodded. "Thanks." A pause. "Uh, listen, Al...I need you to do me a favor."  
  
    "Sure, Sam," Al said, slightly puzzled.  
  
    "I need to talk to Donna. Alone."  
  
    "Donna?" Al questioned with surprise. His eyes shifted guiltily. "You mean, uh, you remember...?"  
  
    "Yeah, I remember her." Sam said it reassuringly, so Al knew he didn't blame him for hiding it. It helped. "Can you get her into the Imaging Chamber?"   
  
    "Gee, Sam, I dunno..." Al scratched the back of his head and screwed up his mouth. "I mean, getting her in here with me would be hard enough on the system, but alone? That's, that's gonna drain a ton of power."  
  
    "I know, Al," Sam said, lips pressed together with remorse, "But it's important. Please."   
  
    After taking a moment and somewhat confused at Sam's somber attitude, Al nodded. "Oh hell. I never could resist that puppy dog look. I can pull some strings. Just give me a bit."   
  
    "Thank you."   
  
    Al grinned tightly and took out the handlink, pressing in the sequence to open the Imaging Chamber. He stepped back into the light and pointed his cigar at him. "Don't say I never did anything for you."   
  
    Sam grinned shakily. "...Never."   
  
    The door closed. Sam shut his eyes and turned away.   
  
\-------  
  
    The door opened again.   
  
    "Sam." He turned around and saw her, seven years older and a little bit sadder. But still radiant and incandescent and wonderful. Donna smiled through happy tears. "It's so good to see you."  
  
    "It's good to see you too, Donna." Sam's smile pushed through his pain, but couldn't mask his devastation.   
  
    "You remembered me."  
  
    "Yeah." Sam swallowed and looked down.   
  
    "Sam?"   
  
    "I've, um...I've not remembered you for a long time."  
  
    "It's not your fault," Donna said, almost apologetically, "I told Al not to tell you about me."   
  
    "No, Donna, that's just it. I _should've_ remembered you."  
  
    "Sam--"  
  
    "Do you know about--" Sam had to stop, gather himself. He met her eyes with shame. "Do you know about my leap into Lawrence College? In 1972?"  
  
    Donna got more serious. She nodded. "Yes."   
  
    "Do you know what I did?"   
  
    "Yes." She held no emotion in her response, kept it carefully hidden.   
  
    Sam pressed his lips together. Tried to adequately express his remorse. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice quaking, "What I did was wrong. I had no right to do that to you. God, if I could take it back, I--"  
  
    "Don't you dare, Sam Beckett," Donna interrupted, suddenly livid. She crossed the room. "I've put up with a lot from you, but don't you dare say you'd take back our marriage." Her face softened. She badly wanted to reach out to him. "You gave me my father. My life has been so much better with you in it. I'm glad you changed things."  
  
    Sam had to take another moment, keep himself breathing.   
  
    "Then I'm glad too." This was still painful, but he hoped that was the truth. And he swallowed again. "But...I want a divorce."   
  
    Donna was in shock for a moment. Her shoulders sunk. "What?"   
  
    "I can't ask you to give up anything else for me. I want you to move on and have a happy life."  
  
    Donna shook her head in disbelief. "I love you, Sam."   
  
    "But are you happy?"  
  
    The question hung heavily in the air, suffocated them both. Donna seemed to be waiting for Sam to move on without her answer, but he didn't. Her lip trembled, and the answer was clear. At last, she shook her head no. It was a shock to admit it, and tears fell from her wide eyes.   
  
    Sam had known it all along. He closed the space between them, as if they could touch again, but no matter how badly he wanted it he could feel nothing. She was an image, pixels in space. "I love you, Donna," he said, "but I can't ask you to throw away your life for me. So I'm telling you goodbye."   
  
    "What are you saying?"  
  
    "This is our last contact. I'm not coming back."   
  
    It was a knife to the gut, but Sam had known this was how this leap was going to end. He'd been hanging on for far too long. It was time to give the people he loved the closure they needed. It was time to give back, and that meant letting go. It was the hardest decision he'd ever had to make.   
  
    Donna was devastated. But she didn't fight. "I would've waited for you."  
  
    "I know."  
  
    Sam leaned forward, and their lips of images in space pretended to meet. Almost feeling something, years and worlds apart. Sam was engulfed in blue light, and he disappeared.   
  
\-------  
  
  **Dr. Sam Becket never returned home.**  
  
    With a noise of disapproval, Al slammed his laptop closed with disgust. He couldn't look at it anymore. That was to be in their last report from the Project, and they didn't even spell Sam's name right. It was a joke. The whole thing was one big, fat chuckle, and Al was tired of being laughed at.   
  
    It had been months since they'd lost contact with Sam. Now the Project was empty and most of the staff had cleared out, due to the funding being cut. Within days, the doors would be shut for good, or at least that's what the Committee thought. Al saw it differently. He wasn't one to give up a fight so easily.   
  
    It had started with Donna leaving, and then people began to drop like dominoes. Traitors. All of 'em. Even Ziggy had gone dark. She didn't understand why she couldn't find Dr. Beckett, and she'd shut herself off in self-imposed isolation. Useless pile of scrap metal.   
  
    Donna told Al what had happened, but he didn't quite believe her. No, Sam wouldn't leave them like that. Something had happened to him. He needed their help. Al was one of the last people hanging on, and he wouldn't rest until he got his friend back.   
  
    If he was still alive.   
  
    Project Quantum Leap was empty. Like he was.  
  
    A knock on the door. One of the few people left, a young man with a promising future (though certainly not here), stepped inside nervously.   
  
    "Yeah?"   
  
    "This came in for you, Admiral." He handed Al a letter, and he sighed. The Committee bigwigs kept sending him their junk mail, and this was likely another letter asking about their progress cleaning house. He'd be sure to send another colorful voicemail their way.   
  
    But this envelope was different. It was yellow, slightly aged. No return address. He opened it curiously, and was stunned.   
  
    This was Sam's handwriting.   
  
_Hey Al,  
  
    I don't know when this letter will find you. I sent one to my family as well. I hope it's not too late. You'll have to forgive me; you probably remember I was never good with time. Oh boy.   
  
    Firstly, I need to apologize for how things ended. I couldn't tell you I was leaving because you and I know you wouldn't let me. Sorry. I hope this letter can make up for it in some small way.   
  
    I can never truly thank you for everything you've done for me. For the hard work at the Project, for looking out for me on the leaps, but most of all for your friendship. You're the kindest, most special person I've ever met. You taught me how to be a better person, and for that I'll always be grateful.   
  
    You're also the most stubborn person I've ever met, and I know you'll still be at the Project. Which is part of why I wanted to send this.   
  
    I want you to know you can let go. You're an exceptional human being, and you deserve to be happy. Go retire in Vegas. Marry Tina. Live your life. I'll be okay. You will be too.   
  
    Thank you for achieving the impossible dream with me, Sancho.   
  
    -Sam  
_  
    For a long time, Al just stared at the paper in his hands. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. Too shocked for words.   
  
    And then, he burst into laughter. He fell back in his seat and clutched his stomach, he was laughing so hard. He'd started the day feeling like it was the end of the world, but this was the best possible news he could have gotten. Because if he got that letter, Sam was alive.   
  
    And he was going to find him.   
  
    Admiral Albert Calavicci stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator--and vanished.


End file.
